


The Lovesick Fools

by basinnit



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Lovers to Friends, M/M, Requited Unrequited Love, Sapnap is only mentioned twice, Soulmates AU, irl shipping, no beta bc we die like men, no happy ending, the universe hates them, tho the ending is kind of open, tho they wont be friends after that but as i said open ending, written mid english class dont even-
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-18 20:56:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28873458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/basinnit/pseuds/basinnit
Summary: It hurt, because one day before they fell asleep together, tangled in George's sheets, happy and confident. One day before George was holding his world in his arms, giggling like a lovesick fool onto Dream's neck every time the other man said some stupid, sweet words into his ear.Thus, he realized, that's what they were - lovesick fools.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Kudos: 15





	The Lovesick Fools

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone!
> 
> The day I stopped writing about kpop I was like, oh, no more real people fics <3\. Look at me go again. Sigh.
> 
> Anyways. This is my first contribution to the angst side of the DNF ao3. English is not my first language and I'm a clown, so please pardon my mistakes.
> 
> If any of the two say anything about not being comfortable with the DNF fics anymore, this is going down. Have fun pals.

Dream was sitting right in front of him. It was breaking his heart, so he kept his eyes firmly on his hands on his lap. His cuticles were ragged, and he frowned at the sight of it. He felt like an empty shell and at the same time he felt too much. Everything was so wrong, taking a way too quick and way too harsh turn in the wrong direction. It wasn't supposed to be like that. Younger George would’ve yelled angrily, fought about it all, held Dream's hand in his firm. Younger George would've tried to figure something out about it, find a clue on how to avoid the rules.

He tugged at his hair to stop himself from the feelings creeping inside of his heart. He's no longer a kid believing in all of his happy crap, he reminded himself.

There's no happy ending. Not for him and Dream, sitting only a bunch of feet apart, yet so far away. They were quiet. The silence was suffocating. It hit George some time before and he just let Dream think about it, let the thought of it sink deep into his brain. Deep into his heart.

It fucking hurt. It hurt like a bitch, like there was a hole in the place where his heart once was. He knew he would go back home and cry until he would pass out. He couldn't bring himself to do that in front of Dream though, forcing himself to hold back the tears. His throat burned.

It took a while for Dream to say something. George knew he would, yet the sound of his stained voice made him flinch.

"It's unfair," were the words Dream forced out of himself.

It hurt to listen to his voice. So empty, so fucking helpless. George wasn't his. He would never be. They couldn't do anything about it.

"We have to move on," George forced himself to say.

It seemed like a bucket of cold water, rushing over Dream seconds after he said it. Dream laughed. It was an ugly laugh, one that made George frown. He didn't like that laugh at all, so full of pain and this overwhelming feeling of being weak against the whole universe.

Once, they were younger. Two teenagers, often imagining how would it be for Dream to get his mark, for them to fall into each other's arms, knowing they were meant to be forever. Knowing they were each others. Nick always sighed and told them to be careful with that, not fall too hard, not feel too much. It's fine, they always told him. There's no way they weren't meant to be.

They weren't. The mark on Dream's wrist wasn't the same one George had. They didn't match. George would never fall into those arms again. George would never let himself love the man in front of him. Not again.

(But he did and that hurt. It hurt because once they'd be done there, he would have to go home and force himself to move the fuck on, to wait for the one he was meant for, to force himself not to care the second Dream would find his. He wasn't ready for that. He wasn't sure if he ever would.)

The universe was a cruel fucking place, and younger Dream would've offered to go against the rules, to screw all of it. Younger Dream would have that enhancing fire in his eyes, burning every piece of George, making him want to reach out, fight the word with him. He would have an iron grip on George's fingers, a heart full of love, ready to commit one of the biggest crimes in the world they were living in.

But Dream wasn't a kid anymore. He stood taller than George, held his head high. He wore the fake confidence like a winter coat back in Britain, where it was cold for most of the time. He wore the smugness like the gloves on a January evening in George's hometown. George knew because he saw it all happen. There was no fire in his eyes, dim and tired of all of this bullshit. There was no warm touch on George's hand, and his fingers twitched with the urge to reach out for it. There was no urge to yell out loud a big "fuck you" and run away with George.

(Because there was no way they would risk their lives for someone that wasn't even theirs.)

It hurt, because one day before they fell asleep together, tangled in George's sheets, happy and confident. One day before George was holding his world in his arms, giggling like a lovesick fool onto Dream's neck every time the other man said some stupid, sweet words into his ear.

Thus, he realized, that's what they were - lovesick fools.

Dream nodded his head, admitting the defeat against the universe. He sighed in resignation and turned his wrist, glaring at the mark on it, as if he could still change it by the hateful stare. For a second, George hoped he would. Then, it was only the disappointing second of silence, of helplessness.

"Give them a chance," George mumbled. He didn't sound like himself. "They're going to be something I never could,"

It was bitter, and Dream from the day before would've frowned at him and scolded him for saying shit like that.

"They will,"

Love was a fragile thing in this world, George thought. (Just like his heart.) It was so easy to break it, make it shatter like a piece of pressed glass. All it took was an ink mark on Dream's wrist and two words defeated but confident. They will. He swallowed the urge to sob.

George stood up, swaying on his feet. God, it fucking hurt.

"I should probably go home,"

Dream from the day before would stand after him, flash him that confident and enchanting smirk of his, tugging him by his hand closer, kiss him softly, and offer him a ride home. He would play some music that George hated and would sing his heart out, mid laughing like a fucking tea kettle. He would kiss him again before letting him leave, a fond smile on his lips, a kiss on George's mark. George from the day before would call him an idiot, without heat behind his words, lean over the passager seat and kiss him again, a little longer, a little teasing. He would leave with a smile, Dream's whine behind him, waving his hand and disappear behind the door, laughing.

That day, he walked home alone, letting the frost bite his cheeks and nose. Only when he sniffled from the cold he hid his face in the warmth of the hoodie he wore, realizing a second too late it was Dreams.

In the comfort of his flat, hidden away in his bedroom, with sheets still smelling like the man he fucking loved, that he wasn't meant for, George let himself cry.

The stars were bright that night. George hoped somewhere far there, somewhere between them, on the other side of the universe, or maybe in the next one, they were finally meant to be. In this world, in the middle of the violent sobs that left his lips, he lifted his phone and opened the messages between him and Dream.

To: **Dream**

There are some things you need to take from my flat.

(There were too many. Dream's clothes, Dream's toothbrush, Dream's mugs, Dream's heart. He needed to take all of this away, or else George would shatter into pieces.)

From: **Dream**

I will ask Nick to take them tomorrow if that's fine with you.

George let himself cry harder.


End file.
